


Kun Still Has No Idea Why

by blindbatalex



Category: Football RPF
Genre: (unless you are Sterling or Sane), Crack, Humor, M/M, No Angst, One sided, Sane/Kun, Sterling/Sane, and, and the world would be a much better place, anyway enjoy you guys, but Kun doesn’t care about that so, can i blame it on how busy work has been, charles will bloody be there if im writing city crack, i hear you ask, idk how Leo puts up with him honestly, if Kun left his English books in the basement where they belong, in which Kun is very dramatic, in which case lots of angst, is well why not, manchester city crack of all things, the answer friends, why am i writing, why are david and charles even in this fic, you don’t need to either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-05 11:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10306187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindbatalex/pseuds/blindbatalex
Summary: Sterling likes Sane; Sane likes Kun and Kun is as oblivious as a flat river rock. Chaos ensues.(David and Joe meanwhile are the sappiest boyfriends in the history of mankind, and they are missing their bedtime to clean up this mess and no one appreciates all the hard work they do, thank you very much.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mm_nani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm_nani/gifts).



> I do not know what possessed me to write wild Man City crack, but here it is. Inspired by late night discussions with Nani and her observation that Sane always seems to be trying to hug Kun who is [ mostly](http://nande-daiyo.tumblr.com/post/157583283944/gutilicious-manchester-city-vs-monaco-21) [ oblivious ](http://blindbatalex.tumblr.com/post/158041254406/nande-daiyo-gutilicious-sunderland-vs). Add to that some A+ Sterling/Sane Instagram banter featuring a very oblivious Sane and Kun’s stellar language [ skills](http://ceibos.tumblr.com/post/152660643520/when-english-is-not-your-thing) and well, here we are. 
> 
> This work is one side of a mini fic exchange nani and I set up (and was supposed to finish two weeks ago, oops) because someone didn’t sign up for the spring fling. If you want to join us on the crack ship inspired by Steven Gerrard elegantly grabbing Rio’s dick on national TV see her amazing bitter enemies to lovers work [ here ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10334327?view_adult=true)!

“I don’ ‘hink Ste’lin likes ‘e.”

“You are making sounds, Kun not saying words.” Leo shakes his head from the small screen of the phone Kun has propped against the sink. Despite several years of practice Leo still sucks at the simple task of understanding him when Kun speaks with his mouth full. Kun spits out the toothpaste and tries again, loving and patient.

“I don’t think Sterling likes me. Why doesn’t he like me?”

“I’m sure he likes you just fine. But at the end of the day if you play well together--which you do--not everyone has to like you?”

This statement is materially false. Everybody likes Kun. A third of the people he meets are immediately taken in by his smile and the rest are charmed by his friendly personality and quick wit in at most half an hour. Just once had it taken Kun a full day to win someone over but in his defense that was the time he told Diego fucking Maradona that he was boning with his daughter. 

“He used to like me just a couple of months ago,” Kun contemplates as he decides he’s too sad to floss and hops onto his bed with Leo in hand.

Leo shakes his head again. For some reason he is so very dramatic today, but he offers great advice as usual. “Well, you could always ask David to ask for you tomorrow.”  
*

Which Kun does. But the events of the day confirm his worst suspicions. The morning starts off great when he arrives at the training complex at the same time as their new shy German, Sane, and takes the opportunity to run the list of dirty German words he learned by the kid. Sane blushes and averts his eyes at ‘cocksucker,’ too pure and naive for this world. It’s kind of adorable really. What is not adorable is Sterling walking past them in the corridor and giving Kun the dictionary definition of the evil eye again. Kun shudders at the dislike in the man’s eyes.

Then, only a few minutes later David, his supposed friend and translator lets him down with the most frustrating of answers.

“Solve your own problems,” he tells Kun when Kun asks for help, “no way am I getting involved in that mess.”

He refuses to elaborate any further and before Kun can figure out what exactly _that mess_ is they have started a mini practice game and he is being brutally tackled to the ground by none other than Sterling himself.

“Sorry, man” the boy offers as he pulls Kun up but Kun can see in his eyes just how pleased he is with himself.

And it’s driving Kun mad because he still has no idea why.

*

“Maybe you are growing too old to count as ‘cool’ with the youngsters. You don’t even have Snapchat,” Leo suggests that night, his words like daggers to Kun’s heart. “It would also be ten times easier to communicate with the said youngsters if, you know, you spoke their language. It’s been six years Kun.”

As much as it hurts, Leo is right as usual. Kun makes two resolutions that night. One is to figure out this Snapchat situation as soon as possible and the other is to dig out the English grammar books he bought when he first transferred from the depths of his basement.

“I will show to the world that I am still hip, damnit,” he thinks as he opens the slightly moldy cover of the book. Nothing stands in Kun’s way when he sets his mind to it and this obstacle that is the English language should be no different.

***

The Etihad is buzzing above them as the team heads to the locker room. They laugh, joke and sling arms around each other and the stadium vibrates with song in return. On the way David jumps onto Kun’s back for a piggyback, Sterling returns his grin, just as drunk on victory as Kun is, and Sane offers a hesitant fist bump which Kun completes with an explosion sound. 

As they walk into the dressing room Sane says “gracias” softly, not quite looking Kun in the eye. Kun isn’t sure if the faint blush on his face is entirely due to exertion. Too shy for his own good, this kid. The way he dribbles past defenders as if they are practice mannequins, the way his crosses always find their target and the ease with which he finishes chances--the kid is a force of nature. And he has no reason to mumble so, no reason to thank Kun for delivering him a ball that was rightly his. He needs to know just how good he is and own up to his talent.

Kun puts a hand on Sane’s shoulder and looks him in the eye until he returns Kun’s gaze. “Listen,” Kun says in English, using his newfound language skills. He wants the entire locker room to hear--to notice. “You are...so young and--” 

Fuck. What was the English word for talented or amazing or mind-blowing, again? It was right there in the book and Kun was just looking at it yesterday. A simple ‘you are good’ won’t do justice to the raw talent that is Leroy Sane. Kun needs a word with more flare. A word to describe how Sane sets the pitch ablaze every time he’s on it. How when he has the ball at his feet he seems to be on fire, full of talent and energy and potential. Like flares that rise up and mesmerize anyone who is looking. Like the sun itself.

That’s it. Kun has his word.

“You are so young and you are so _hot_.” 

A few things happen all at once in the next moment. The locker room bursts into laughter and whistles, Sane blushes to the very tips of his ears, effectively turning into a human beet, and swiftly ducks out from under Kun’s hand. Sterling meanwhile gives Kun a look brimming with anger and hatred and storms off into the showers, whatever truce the game brought long gone.

Shit.

“That wasn’t the right word, was it?” he asks David in the safety of their mother tongue, as soon as the whistles die down (which by the way takes a while). 

“Depends on what you want in life, I suppose” David answers with a wicked grin, as far from helpful as humanly possible, “you know I don’t judge.”

There Kun is, trying to be a good person, a good _mentor_ and trying to speak a language that makes no sense for his teammates’ benefit and this is the treatment he receives just for getting one word a little wrong. It shouldn’t be that hard to add two and two and get what Kun meant. He huffs and heads to the showers, feeling slighted. Thank heavens Leo is landing in a couple of hours, because Kun doesn’t know how long he can deal with such cruel unfairness on his own.

And to make everything worse Sterling is back to being a thorn on the side of Kun’s universal appeal and Kun _still_ has no idea why.

*

“I win!” Kun shouts at the top of his lungs as he comes to a halt by the gates to his house. His cry of victory fills the quiet residential street and reverberates in the chilly night air. Leo crashes into him a second later. 

“How is it fair if you call it a race only after you’ve already started sprinting?” Leo asks between pants, but he is grinning and he doesn’t move out of Kun’s personal space either. It feels so good to have him here where Kun can feel his breath on his skin and race him in the middle of the night.

Kun puts a hand on his jaw and strokes Leo’s beard with his thumb, his heart full with love and joy and Leo’s sheer beauty. He lets his voice drop low.

“How is it fair Barça get all the penalties?”

It’s their favorite argument, this. Kun ribs at Barcelona and Leo defends every single favorable refereeing decision they received. Because at the end of the day they both know Barcelona --Leo--doesn’t need the help of any referee to work miracles. But now Leo only grunts in return and moves in just a little closer, crowding Kun against the gates. The iron bars are cool against Kun’s back and the heat emanating from Leo shoots a bolt of desire through his body. He still hasn’t moved his hand from where it rests squarely on Leo’s jaw. A small voice at the back of his head reminds Kun that what they are doing is foolish, the quiet of the street deceptive. 

But Leo is just _there_ , looking at Kun with eyes that dark and liquid, his erection straining against Kun’s through his jogging pants, irresistible. Kun still hasn’t moved his hand from where it rests squarely on Leo’s jaw.

“ _Leo_ ” he murmurs, half as a plea to take shelter in the privacy of the house and half a plea for Leo to do whatever he wants with him. Leo opts for the latter and crushes their lips together. He kisses Kun, open mouthed and hungry and all Kun can do is to let out a moan and grind against Leo like a teenager. With his free hand he draws Leo in even closer and his eyes flutter shut as Leo presses his tongue against Kun’s. Everything about today has been perfect and Kun wouldn’t change any of it for the world.

That is, until he hears a thud and a gasp coming from the two opposite directions of the street. 

_Fuck_.

As he pushes Leo away on instinct Kun doesn’t know what he expects to see, the old lady from down the road covering her mouth and tutting with an amount of judgement only the English can manage, a paparazzi with his camera capturing every incriminating shot or just passerbys with their camera phones already streaming to the world. He looks to his left--where the gasp came from--and braces himself for his fate--

Which happens to be--

“Sterling?!”

_What the actual fuck?_

Of all people, Raheem Sterling, his teammate and quasi-nemesis, is standing on the sidewalk, covering his mouth with one hand, the other clenched into a fist at his side and staring just to Kun’s right in absolute disbelief.

Kun then remembers the second noise, the thud that came from the other direction and his head whips to the other side. 

“Sane,” Leo says, one step ahead of Kun just as Sterling mutters a quiet “Leroy,” in a cracked voice.

And sure as day Leroy Sane, Kun’s other teammate and teenager extraordinaire, is standing frozen on the sidewalk, his mouth hanging open in shock. A bouquet of roses lies in a puddle at his feet. He looks at Kun as if he means to ask a question, to say something and blinks through the tears brimming in his eyes. Before Kun can say anything --though he has no idea what he would say--Sane seems to come to his senses and wiping at his eyes he turns around and sprints in the opposite direction.

Leo makes to go after him but stops after a few seconds, the German too fast and with too much of a head start to chase after. 

Kun is looking at Leo and Sane and so he doesn’t see Sterling walk up to him, until the boy flat out shoves him, hard enough to make Kun lose his balance. “Fuck you,” he spits, his eyes burning with hatred, and oddly enough something like hurt. Kun blinks up at him from where he’s landed on the ground. Within seconds Leo is there at his side, standing in between him and Sterling and telling the kid to back off in Spanish. Even if Sterling doesn’t speak the language Leo seems to convey his intentions clear enough because Sterling turns and walks away into the night, fists still clenched, without saying another word.

“Are you okay?” Leo offers him a hand, concern written all over his face. 

“Yes,” Kun manages despite his aching bum and pulls himself back onto his feet. His heart hasn’t stopped pounding in his chest, both with surprise and panic as to what will happen now. He laughs to break the tension. “That kid really has it in for me though. And Sane--do you have any idea why he’d be walking on my street with a bouquet of roses at night?”

The last few minutes have been absolutely crazy but if there is one thing more baffling than Sterling it is a shy, young German deciding to roam your street at 9 pm with roses in hand. Most of Kun’s neighbors are well-to-do elderly couples who for some reason love to give Kun things (mostly pastries) whenever they see him. Great bakers, but not remotely hip or young enough for Sane to hang out with-- _want to bring roses to_.

Leo looks at him as if he isn’t sure Kun doesn’t have a concussion. “I’m fine,” Kun says impatiently. The fall only hurt his bum, which painful as it is, does not interfere with his mental capacities. “Well?”

“Roses.” Leo says pointedly, gesturing towards the large bouquet now lying in the mud. 

“I can see the bloody roses but--”

In that moment a wild thought occurs to him.

“This isn’t because I called Sane _hot_ today, is it?” he asks, mostly to confirm, saying ‘hot’ in English. He was totally going to check the dictionary definition, to see why exactly everyone found it hilarious (everyone except Sterling and Sane that is) but then Leo landed early and it...well, Kun had more important _things_ to _do_.

“YOU DID WHAT?”

“I-- I thought it meant--” Kun does his best to look like an innocent puppy no one can be mad at for long. It’s a tactic that works 99% of the time with Leo, but apparently not tonight.

“WHAT DID YOU THINK IT MEANT KUN, WHAT DID YOU THINK?”

“--talented?”

All fight seems to go out of Leo then. “Talented,” he mutters mostly to himself, running a hand through his face, and slides down with his back to the gate to sit by the abandoned roses. “We will be on the cover of Daily Mail and every other tabloid in England and Spain tomorrow not because we were stupid enough to make out in public but because I told my boyfriend to learn English.”

 _We wouldn’t be here if English made some goddamn sense,_ Kun wants to say, because the link between being on fire and being hot is still crystal clear to him, (also what does this cursed word mean anyways?) but he doesn’t.

Now is the time for damage control and productive thoughts.

Surely there must be _something_ they can do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry it took me longer than I promised to update. But here is the second chapter, making just as little sense as the first!

I am sorry it took me longer than I promised to update. But here is the second chapter, making just as little sense as the first!

 

David takes a forkful of the risotto and makes a small, pleased hum. His eyes glimmer a lovely hue of brown in the candlelight. David looks perfect like this, Joe decides, his face soft in the dim light, the lines of tension lifted away however temporarily, as he enjoys the food Joe prepared and slowly strokes Joe’s wrist where their hands meet halfway on the table. The only other sound in the room is the Charlie Parker playing in the background, full of life and passion. They don’t get too many nights like this anymore, where they can tune the rest of the world out and simply _be_ , the boundaries of where one ends and the other begins fuzzy in the familiar, shared silence and in their linked hands.

David must have caught him staring because he looks up from his plate and smiles. Joe wishes then, more than anything, that he could save this moment and take it with him to Turin for all the times when his house starts to feel more like a mausoleum than a home.

“Did the risotto turn out okay?” he asks, to say something, before the love he feels for this Spaniard overwhelms him completely and brings tears to his eyes.

David’s smile broadens and he opens his mouth to reply, but a phone, shrill and insistent, answers from the living room before he can.

Joe looks at David quizzically, because nothing should be ringing when they made a point to turn off their mobiles. Besides the phone is ringing in that monochromatic, annoying alarm clock tone and not in either David’s _Blue Moon Rising_ or Joe’s _What is Love?_ melodies.

“The landline,” David croaks after a moment of deliberation, “Abuela.” He scrambles out of his chair and darts into the living room.

Shit.

So obsolete is the Silva household landline that Joe sometimes forgets it exists altogether. Theirs after all is an age of smartphones and technology, and ever since they cornered Raheem one day even Joe and David know how to FaceTime and can even send Snappies. The only person who still uses the landline is David’s grandmother but she and David talk on the same time every week, at 8 pm on Thursdays—and never on a Tuesday night. As Joe follows after David he remembers how David used to joke that his grandmother knows the landline number by heart and has probably given it out as an emergency contact number to at least three separate places despite his mother’s best efforts.

He finds David with the receiver on his ear, face ashen as he listens with intent and makes short remarks and asks clarification questions in Spanish.

“—What exactly happened.”

“—I understand.”

“—they did?”

_Shit._

Joe comes to stand by his partner, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He rubs gently at David’s arm to offer whatever little comfort that he can. He knows how much David’s abuela means to David and wishes desperately that there was something more he could—

David jerks back so violently that he almost sends Joe tumbling down. A vein pops in his neck.

“YOU WERE MAKING OUT WHERE?”

Ah. Not David’s grandmother, then.

“WHO MAKES OUT IN THE STREET FOR FUCK’S SAKE? WHAT ARE YOU, FUCKING FIFTEEN?”

Joe knows that the answer to those two questions is most likely, (i) the Argentinians (or more specifically Kun and his superstar boyfriend), and (ii) yes, if one is talking about mental age. He imagines what Kun is saying on the other side of the line, as he goes back to massaging David’s tense shoulders. 

_We took a wrong turn, found ourselves on Canal Street and said well, why not?_

“Oh, you love him like the flowers love the sun, do you Kun? That’s the official explanation you are going with?”

_I had missed Leo so much, I just had to take my darling into my manly arms at the airport and smooch the living daylights out of him._

David runs a hand through his face and sighs.

_We thought the best way to make a stand against homophobia in football was to make out in Piccadilly Gardens. Oh and we hope you don’t mind the Daily Mail reporters we sent your way._

 

Once he hangs up, David buries his face on Joe’s shoulder and makes small whimpering noises.

“It’s all my fault,” he whines, “I was having too much fun watching from the sidelines, Joe and now we have the biggest gay meltdown this club has seen in our hands. And--we will definitely miss bedtime, again.”

“It’s okay,” Joe says to soothe his miserable partner, threading a hand through David’s hair even though he was looking forward to being in bed by 10pm. “We’ll face it together, like we always do.”

 

*

And that is the story of how Joe finds himself standing at their - at _City’s_ \- hot shot young winger’s door with a restless Kun by his side. On the third ring of the bell Sane opens the door and takes a small step back when he sees who his visitors are. His eyes dart between Kun, Joe and the far wall behind - the poor kid looks suspiciously close to a frightened fawn. Joe feels a surge of sympathy wash over him – of all the men Sane could fall for (which is a tough fate for a young football player to begin with) Kun is probably the absolute worst choice.

“Can we come in, Leroy? We were just dropping in for a quick chat.” Joe says in his most fatherly voice and with a warm smile.

Sane mumbles a yes and moves out of the way. His hotel suite is far too cold and impersonal except for a couple of framed pictures lining the bookshelf. When he gets home Joe will remind David to take Sane out for house hunting; anyone who has just moved to a new country deserves a proper home, and especially this talented, shy kid. But for now they have more urgent issues at hand.

Once they have settled down - Sane huddled into himself and half buried in the armchair cushions and Joe and Kun on the couch opposite him - it is Sane who breaks the silence.

“So you and Messi?”

Kun nods. “Ten years now.” His face does that thing it does whenever he is talking about Messi, as though Messi is to thank for every little good thing in the world and maybe even for life itself. 

(And yet somehow it is still Joe and David who always get accused of being hopeless romantics.) 

Kun looks like he has more to say, but he stops and looks at Joe instead. He rubs behind his neck and looking somewhat embarrassed, switches to Spanish.

“Do you think it’s immoral to sleep with a teenager even if he is of age of consent?”

“Yes!” Joe replies (yells) possibly a little louder than the situation calls for. Sane regards them from his fortress of cushions with a knitted brow. “Aren’t you in a big enough mess as is without dragging teenagers in?”

Now Kun is looking confused too.

“I would argue Sane is a big part of the current mess, no?”

This is when Joe remembers how Kun thought he was at least 30 for years because he has that ‘generic old white man face.’

“Sane is twenty-one.” Joe says with a sigh, though later he will wish he kept his mouth shut and let Kun believe that Sane was indeed a teenager.

“Ah! Well great then.” Kun switches back to English and beams at Sane. “What do you say - me,” he points at himself, “you,” he points at Sane, “and Leo. We have sex?”

Joe nearly chokes on his own spit and kicks Kun on the shin hard enough to bruise. Kun yelps in response and tuts at him. Sane meanwhile is staring at the two of them - mostly at Kun - slack mouthed and with eyes wide as saucers.

“Don’t be such a hypocrite Joe,” Kun says while rubbing at the bruise forming at his leg. “You two were practically begging me to liven your bedroom just months ago.”

This, for the record, is only half-true. He and David may have asked Kun for a threesome while at the height of the summer’s transfer anxiety, but there was _absolutely no begging_ involved, thank you very much. Besides Kun turned out to be so demanding in bed with a stamina befitting of Greek gods that Joe and David found themselves exhausted, too tired to move a toe, and yet having to go for yet another round because Kun was nowhere near done.

“Kid,” Joe says, that fatherly, protective instinct acting up again. “You don’t have to--you don’t have to do anything. You are safe and it’s all--” 

“Okay.” Sane cuts Joe off before he can finish his sentence, except he is not talking to Joe. He is nodding slowly at Kun, still somewhat resembling a frightened fuzzy animal but now with a determined set to his jaw. “Yes, I’d like that very much.” he says building up on his confidence.

Kun gets up to give him a high-five and makes a ridiculous explosion sound. Joe can only stare at them, slack mouthed, hoping his immense disapproval and judgement is visible on his face.

“What?” Kun tuts. “You know from experience that no one can stay sad, or heartbroken or with any such pesky mood killer emotion after having sex with me or with Leo.”

“I--” Joe starts but doesn’t know how to continue. However he imagined tonight going this was not it.

(Though there is some truth to this statement, he supposes. Both he and David were too sore and tired the next day to so much as casually mope about how they would very likely spend the next year apart.)

Distantly he wonders whether David is doing any better with Messi and Raheem.

*

“If you so much as lay a finger on Kun,” Leo is saying with almost perfect if accented English, voice dead cold and eyes narrowed to slits. David can only look on in horror and a little bit of fascination at the mob hit man who has replaced the quiet, reserved Leo they all know and love. The Leo who only moments ago was telling Sterling to not to give up because it takes airheads like Kun and Sane a while to notice what’s right in front of them sometimes. Raheem is nodding from his seat, with just as much horror and surprise written across his face at the sudden turn of the conversation. “I will come and end you, you hear. So much as a finger, Raheem.” 

*

Joe is still transfixed to his seat, wondering what he had done, and looking without seeing when Kun pokes at his arm and jolts Joe back into the present. “Translate like you are supposed to will you, we have _things_ to do.”

“What?”

“I said, translate like you supposed to, will you, we--” Kun repeats slowly like he is talking to a three year old. 

“No, tell me what you want me to translate.”

Kun sighs theatrically, as if he can’t believe he is being asked to repeat himself twice. “Can you tell Sane he should give this Sterling kid a chance? Go to dinner or something? Because you know, sometimes the one you need has been standing next to you all along?”

Joe blinks. Maybe it’s because these couple of sentences are as touching and deep as anything he’s heard Kun utter. Or maybe it’s the sudden memory of David standing on his porch, shivering a little in a jacket too light for snow that flurries across the street. Though David had said it in English then. 

“Oh don’t fucking sit there doing mooneyes at me. We don’t have all night, do we?”

And so they do. At least Sane looks happy with that little blush on his cheeks and the smile that keeps tugging at the corners of his mouth, like he has just earned the golden ticket to Charlie’s Chocolate Factory.

To each his own, his mother (and David) would probably say.

“Right,” Joe says as he starts to translate. They are definitely missing bedtime and someone needs to keep Sterling away from the Aguero household tonight but the moment he finds himself alone with David, Joe will kiss him, nice and slow, just because he can. Because Joe is one lucky bastard. 

And he thinks if Kun of all people has found someone to love him as unconditionally as Leo does, maybe there is hope for these two kids just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for making it all the way to the end of this utter piece of crack, friends! Comments are always appreciated. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [ here](http://blindbatalex.tumblr.com/), and prompts, ideas and thoughts are always welcome. Come say hi!
> 
> (Also Charles most certainly does not speak Spanish, but I imagine if he was dating David Silva he would totally learn for his bf. (read: I was having too much fun with Charles to let something as insignificant as real life get in the way, and I sincerely apologize.))

**Author's Note:**

> Next up Part Two: where Charles and David Silva give up on their romantic dinner to intervene for the greater good.


End file.
